Look'd Up In Perfect Silence At the Stars
by Min Daae
Summary: 7.03 missing scene/gap in the unaccounted for three weeks. Maybe it's not the most functional of coping mechanisms, but he's coping. Self-harm.


It wasn't so bad at first.

A press of his thumb on the stitches in his hand. Biting his lip hard enough to make it bleed. Digging fingernails into the underside of his wrist. Simple things, short, sharp pain, a reminder. He was _controlling, _he was _managing, _and maybe it wasn't healthy but that wasn't what was important right now. Keeping it together was what was important right now.

Dean wouldn't see it that way, though. One time was one thing. Making it a pattern…Sam knew his brother wouldn't like that. So it had to be subtle.

"Feels good, doesn't it."

Sam's head jerked up and his eyes unerringly found Lucifer perched on the back of the couch where Dean was napping, one of his feet on Dean's shoulder. Lucifer waved with a grin. "Don't touch him," Sam said, under his breath.

"If I'm not real, I'm hardly touching him." Lucifer tipped his head to the side. "Come on, Sam. Don't be so inconsistent."

Sam looked deliberately away and dug his nails into his own palm. "Yes," Lucifer said. "Like that. That'll work." He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and pressed harder.

"You don't think this is just an excuse to hurt yourself, do you? Hell can do that to a person." Lucifer hummed. "If you're going to suffer, better to like it, I guess. Good job being careful, though. Wouldn't want to leave any scars."

_He's not here, _Sam thought, opening his eyes and looking at Dean, only at Dean, blocking out the back of the couch. _Dean's here. Dean's real. _Silence, and Sam relaxed, opened his hand and looked at the marks, four small crescents. They didn't fade.

Lucifer tsked. "Better try harder, Sammy. You know pain so well now. You could try peeling off your own skin. That never gets old." Sam shuddered, flashes of blood painting the walls and Lucifer's voice coaxing and gentle and _that's it, _his ownsobbing as he hooked his own fingers under the skin and pulled-

"Good memories," Lucifer said fondly. Sam didn't look at him, didn't look at Dean. He looked at the door. Bobby was out getting groceries.

Sam picked at the scars on his hand, but they didn't give like the stitches would have. "Get creative, Sam," Lucifer murmured. "I'm sure you can come up with something. Make me go away. _Make me._" Sam swallowed hard and got up, moved over to the table. "There are knives in the kitchen," Lucifer went on. "But that's a little cliché, isn't it? You can do better."

He moved into the kitchen, opened the drawers and fished through until he found the matches. He weighed them in his hand for a moment. Lucifer snickered.

"Fire? How appropriate. Don't tell _me _you don't have a sense of irony, Sam." He walked his fingers up Sam's shoulder, apparently having abandoned the couch and Dean. "I think it's good. Just a little burn. Somewhere sensitive."

He lit the match and went to the stove. Turned on the gas and lit one of the burners. Lucifer hummed with pleasure. "Fingertip or two? Obvious, but you could call it an accident…you want it, Sammy, don't you. Feel it. Your heart racing, that little prickle of anticipation…hell made you a little masochist. Then again, maybe you always were. Just waiting for someone to understand. _I _understand."

"Shut up," Sam whispered, and rolled his sleeve up, held his wrist out over the burner. He flinched back from the heat at first, but only a little, only for a moment. He held perfectly still and half closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. It only took a couple seconds to become uncomfortable, and his hand trembled with the reflex to jerk away. A couple more and it hurt. "That's it, that's it," Lucifer said, soft and deadly, "You don't even need me anymore-"

And then he was gone, and it was just Sam and his arm, breathing hard through his nose as the nerves in his hand prickled and the skin roasted and burned and began to blister.

"Sam!" Dean, from the next room, his voice insistent and breaking through the shell of peace (of pain) he'd built around himself. "Hey, Sam, is it time for pills yet?"

He turned off the burner and rolled down his sleeve too fast, hissed for the brush of cloth over damaged skin. "No," he yelled, checking the time. "Not yet."

"Come and entertain me, then! I'm going crazy out here!"

"Someone is," Sam heard, and he glanced around, stomach sinking, to see Lucifer rummaging through one of the cabinets. He grinned cheekily at Sam. "Maybe next time, eh kiddo? Experimentation is all about trial and error."

Sam gritted his teeth and pretended not to hear it, pretended not to notice the way black and red crawled around the edges of his vision, trying to get in. He was managing. He was managing _fine. _

~.~

Bobby was back, and Dean was in a bad mood. He complained about everything from his leg itching to the shows on TV (_Man, Jose is such a fucking idiot! Look what he's turning down, and for Marisa?) _and the food. Sam escaped into the bedroom and took a moment to breathe.

"Hey, Sammy."

He jerked, and didn't turn around, didn't look at him, like that might make him not be there. He wrapped his hand around his forearm and pressed down with his thumb on the burn, breathing through his teeth. Lucifer padded softly up behind him and made a sympathetic clicking sound with his tongue.

"Doesn't seem to be working, does it? May you should try something more extreme." His thumb glided down Sam's spine. "There are all kinds of sharp edges in this house. Perfectly easy to have an accident. No one would ever know. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

His eyes drifted over to the bags in the corner, of guns and knives and-

"Of course," Lucifer said. "You can always go for the big finish. Blow your brains out. How bad can it be?"

Sam swallowed hard and looked sharply away. It wasn't enough. The pain wasn't enough. His thumb skidded over the scar tissue on his palm.

"Maybe just a little knife," Lucifer suggested. "Small, light, easy to carry whenever you need it. I bet you could find one to stab all the way in, and know all the places where you wouldn't hit anything vital." The idea, Lucifer's voice, tugged at something dark and sick inside him, and he needed to do _something. _

The duffel was open. He could slip one of the smaller knives out so easily. "Go on," Lucifer urged. "You want me gone, better commit. You and pain are old friends."

Before he could think too hard about it, Sam knelt down, reached in, and found one of the switchblades. It would fit in his pocket, if he wanted it there. Flipping it out, the edge was sharp.

"Sam? Whatcha doing?" Sam jerked and looked up to find Bobby looking at him oddly.

"Uh – just checking the weapons. Organizing some of them," he said, stupidly. Bobby gave him a slightly sideways look. Lucifer smiled over his shoulder and thrust his fist through Bobby's stomach. It came out the front red and holding a handful of entrails. Sam flinched, and dropped the switchblade toward his ankle, where Bobby couldn't see, sliced a thin line in the skin. The pain was sharp and immediate, and Lucifer was gone. There was blood sliding into his sock.

"Your brother's being a right pain in the ass. How about you take a turn for a while?"

"Sure, Bobby," Sam said, and stood up. His jeans would cover the mark, and it would clot soon. "Don't leave me alone with him for too long, though, okay?"

Bobby seemed appeased, and moved on toward the back door. There was rain on the roof and Sam headed back toward the couch where Dean had made his throne. Lucifer didn't follow him, didn't make a sound.

Sam slid the switchblade into his pocket.

~.~

It rained for the rest of the week, the Leviathans were still wreaking havoc on the outside world, and Dean alternated between pissy and high on drugs.

Sam took comfort in the slight weight in his right pocket, and the thin and slender lines drawn in blood on his body in places they wouldn't be seen. Just enough to sting, to hurt, to pierce the skin.

Maybe sometimes a little deeper than that.

Because Lucifer always came back, and every time seemed to hold on a little harder. His whispered encouragements were hard to ignore, and even worse were his descriptively offered alternatives.

"You could slice yourself open in the shower and let all your guts collect in the bottom. They can tell your fortune that way."

"Ever wondered what gun oil tastes like? You could find out. Might be interesting."

He left eventually. Sam just had to find the right pain to make him do it. And Bobby kept coming so close to catching him at his little ritual, and Bobby would freak out and tell Dean-

Except it turned out Dean didn't need to be told after all. They were sitting on the couch and watching a telenovela, Lucifer sitting in the next chair over and complaining about the accents, Sam twitchy and wondering when he could get away to _fix things _when Dean said, "Sam, you been hurting yourself?"

"Ooh," said Lucifer, "The plot thickens," and Sam's eyes cut over toward him for just a moment. Dean noticed, though, and followed his gaze.

"That him? Stop looking, okay, Sam? And answer my question."

Sam looked away, and rubbed his thumb over the scar tissue on his palm. It didn't work. "No," he said, finally. "No, I'm fine."

"Bobby thinks you're up to something. He doesn't know what. I need you to tell me, though."

Sam couldn't lie, not the way Dean was looking at him, not glancing at Dean's broken leg and thinking _I should have stopped it, I should have. _"It's nothing serious," he said instead. "Just – I'm in control, okay?"

And the broken leg was bad enough, but the way Dean's face crumpled was way worse, and the way he looked simultaneously heartbroken and angry. "Sam," he said, and stopped. Muttered, "Jesus."

"It's just a way of managing," Sam said. "It used to be...my hand. But it healed."

"It's going to stop," Dean said lowly, and when Sam hesitated, he almost yelled it. "_It's going to stop. _Okay?"

"Dean-"

"Okay? I don't care what you have to do. I don't care if you have to cling to my fucking leg until you feel better. Just don't…do that."

Sam hunched his shoulders. "I have it under control."

"Yeah?" Dean's voice vibrated. "Under control like the demon blood?"

Sam flinched, jerked back like he'd been slapped, and almost reached for his switchblade, remembering when Dean wasn't Dean but was Lucifer, but then Dean grimaced and looked away and his leg was broken, so Sam was pretty sure… "That's not what I…it's just the same, Sam, the same self-destructive shit, and you could kill yourself with it the same way. If you can't…deal, then for fuck's sake say something. Don't just start…" He trailed off.

Sam looked into the opposite corner of the room. "He'll throw you out, Sam," Lucifer purred. "I always told you you could only count on me."

"Shut up," Sam whispered, and reached for his switchblade, just to feel it was there. Dean sat up with a grunt and grabbed his arm.

"He here?" He said. Sam nodded, after a moment.

"Talk to me," Dean said, and when Sam paused, shook his wrist. "Talk to _me. _Not him. I'm here, he isn't. And I bet I make better conversation."

Sam closed his eyes and made his arm relax. "He says you'll leave," he said. Then clarified, "Leave me."

"Fuck," Dean groaned, and then shook his head. "I won't, Sam. I'm not." Sam just ducked his head and nodded. Dean sighed.

"Want to give me what's in your pocket now?"

Sam handed over the switchblade. Dean looked at it. He grimaced. Then he threw it across the room, behind the ratty corpse of a couch. "There," he said. "Now that's gone." And smiled. Sam tried to forget that Lucifer was still staring across the room, and found his own smile.

There were still marks scabbing. He could use those, for another week or two. Dig in a thumbnail or a fingertip. After that…

Sam didn't look at Lucifer, but he could feel fingers touching the hair at the nape of his neck anyway. "Just keep feeling it, Sam," he murmured. "Let it eat you up and spit you out. You're mine. And wherever you go, you'll never really be out of the Cage. It's in you now."

"Sam?" Dean looked worried. Maybe he'd been calling for a few seconds. Sam focused on him blankly. "You okay?" He said, and Sam wanted to laugh. Lucifer did.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."


End file.
